If you're afraid something might happen, it probably will.
After a long afternoon training session, Ethan stared at the bald, greasy middle-aged man who appeared in front of him without warning.
Damn Murphy's Law…
"Mr. Ethan! I'm Neil Jenkins—Adam White's agent." The man extended a plump, sweaty hand. "You can call me Neil."
Ethan fought back the urge to grimace and reached out for a handshake with the man he instinctively disliked.
He quickly pulled his hand back and settled into his chair behind the desk.
"When did Adam get an agent?" he asked, frowning slightly as he looked up.
"Yesterday," Neil replied casually, pulling a chair over and sitting opposite him. "But that's not the point."
He placed a thick stack of documents on the desk and slowly slid them toward Ethan.
"With Adam's talent, his current salary at Luton is frankly a joke."
"We're already planning to give him a raise," Ethan replied without hesitation, flipping open the top page of the file.
"This is the contract my client deserves, Mr. Ethan."
Neil leaned back in his chair, trying to cross his legs, but gave up halfway—the fat on his thighs made it impossible. Still, he didn't seem embarrassed. His smug expression remained, as if he already knew how this meeting would end.
Ethan, meanwhile, kept his face unreadable. Negotiation wasn't his strong suit, so he let silence and stillness do the work, showing no reaction the agent could exploit.
Then he saw it.
Weekly salary: £20,000.
Ethan didn't bother reading further.
That figure was laughable. Even many established Premier League players weren't earning much more. And Luton? They were a League One side, two tiers below the Premier League. There was no way they could—or should—pay that kind of money.
It wasn't that Luton couldn't technically afford it. David Morton, the club's young owner, came from money—even if he wasn't exactly Roman Abramovich. But Ethan wasn't about to let Luton smash its entire wage structure just to appease one agent's fantasy.
If he gave Adam White £20,000 a week, the rest of the dressing room would implode within days. Half the squad would demand raises, and the club's budget would spiral out of control.
Ethan calmly closed the file and slipped it into his desk drawer.
"Mr. Jenkins, I think we need more time before discussing Adam's contract. He still has four years left. It's a bit early for this," he said with a polite, professional smile.
Neil smiled back, wider now.
He had expected this. In truth, he never imagined Ethan would agree to the offer. If Adam hadn't insisted on at least trying, Neil wouldn't have bothered with the charade of presenting a contract at all.
But rejection suited his plan just fine.
In fact, it was the first step.
Neil's eyes glinted with calculation. He saw Adam White as a golden goose, and he wasn't about to let him stay in a small club like Luton. Not when the English media were already calling him "the next Messi."
In England, most clubs don't include release clauses in contracts. That gave Luton the upper hand—on paper. But Neil had been around the block. He knew how to turn the media into a weapon, how to engineer a strike, how to manufacture a transfer request.
If Adam stopped playing, or worse, went public, Luton would be forced to cave. No small club wants to risk public fallout or dressing room unrest.
Neil had already begun working the back channels. He was lining up interviews, whispers to tabloid reporters, and phone calls to scouts.
He just needed Adam to play along.
"Adam, look at the situation! You've got no future at Luton!" Neil's voice was rising as he waved newspaper clippings in front of the teenager.
Adam White sat in his modest rented flat in Luton, trying to process it all. His income wasn't high by footballer standards, but it was still far more than what most people in town made.
"Look at these headlines!" Neil barked, practically frothing now. "They're calling you a genius! England's great hope! You know Rooney? You know how much he made at your age? You couldn't even dream of it!"
In the corner, Adam's older brother, Alan White, watched with concern, seeing the conflict written all over Adam's face.
They had come from the estates—from the hard, unforgiving streets. They didn't have experience in agents, contracts, media manipulation.
And now everything was moving too fast.
Adam White wasn't sure if he could trust the agent standing in front of him. Neil Jenkins had been courteous, even enthusiastic, doing his best to help Adam secure a better contract and find a bigger club. But deep inside, Adam couldn't shake the uneasiness gnawing at him.
Despite the sudden appearance of Adam's agent, Luton manager Ethan didn't alter his plans. Training sessions and match preparations continued without interruption.
On January 14th, Luton Town faced Chester away in a league match.
After a week of rest and training, Luton's squad was in great condition. Chester, playing at home, adopted a defensive setup early in the match, but in the 21st minute, Jamie Vardy broke the deadlock with a sharp finish inside the box, giving Luton the lead.
Although Luton dominated the rest of the half, they couldn't extend their lead before the break. A 1–0 scoreline is always risky—one counterattack and a potential three points could slip away.
At halftime, Ethan made adjustments. He turned to Adam White on the bench.
"Play on the right wing," Ethan said, draping an arm around Adam's shoulders. "Kevin will shift left. Once you get the ball, drive into the box—inside or outside, doesn't matter. Keep your eyes on Jamie and Charlie's positions. If there's a chance, feed them. Got it?"
As the coach spoke, Adam's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. He appreciated Ethan's trust, but Neil Jenkins's words echoed in his head:
"You need to score goals—lots of them. That's how you get noticed by the media and big clubs."
Adam knew his place in the team. He was behind Vardy and Charlie Austin when it came to goal-scoring opportunities. Yet, Jenkins's message made sense too—goalscorers always attract attention.
When Adam finally came onto the pitch, the internal conflict showed. His performance was far from the impressive display he put on against Chelsea in the FA Cup.
He overthought every move. His first touch betrayed him. Derlink Water passed the ball wide to Adam, who hesitated—should he cut inside and shoot, or stick to Ethan's instructions and look for a teammate? That moment of indecision was all it took for the Chester defender to close in and steal the ball.
From the touchline, Ethan frowned. This was not the decisive Adam White he knew.